


Daisy-Fresh Danny

by halloweenpants



Category: Game Grumps, Lolita (1997), Ninja Sex Party (Band), Starbomb (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, E for sexytimes and also E for weird upsetting nonsense, F/M, M/M, Teacher/Student, a terrible idea, rape/non-con being that its a 30something and a 17 yr old, self indulgence but like not even, tags being relatively continually updated, upsetting shit in general
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halloweenpants/pseuds/halloweenpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was Leigh, plain Leigh, in the morning, standing six feet two in one sock.</p><p>---</p><p>a Lolita AU that happened because Dan has too many nicknames. Very loose adaptation seeing as I've only seen the movies and also I don't know if i can bring myself to parrot the whole thing you feel me. Additional warnings will arrive as needed; if yall have suggestions/criticism/etc or if there's something I need to tag that i didn't, please let me know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Sin, my Soul

_Lolita_ _, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth._ _He was Leigh, plain Leigh, in the morning, standing six feet two in one sock. He was Dan in slacks. He was Danny at school. He was Avidan on the dotted line. But in my arms he was always Lolita._

 

Dr. Wecht leaned back from the desk, eyes lazy, closing with the movement of his hips. Images danced to and fro across his memory.

 

_Did he have a precursor? Yes, he did--_

 

Wecht smiled a shadow of Barry’s smile. They had been so young, but so wise with the movements of their bodies, aged fifteen on the sand. Brian had draped a shawl without a care around Barry’s shoulders; Barry had pulled at the buttons of Brian’s shirt roughly until they gave way. It wasn’t even nighttime, it didn’t matter, they were miles away, hearts one with the ground and the sky and each other’s. Eyelashes filled with memories and sand to last the rest of time.

  
But time had cut itself short with a disease that held Barry’s hand in the garden and climbed up his arms to strangle him in a cloying fog. Brian mistook a flower in that garden for his growth and left his peace there, feeling nothing, feeling everything.


	2. Where Everything was Exactly how it Seemed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i am a beacon of sin

It was a Friday night, heady and warm, when Dan remembered to tell Ross about a dark blue tie he’d seen. Tarnished brass hair flickered startled in the moonlight as Dan’s voice broke the heavy air open.

 

“Daffy,” (That was Dan’s nickname) “What did he do?”

“He didn’t do much of anything, Ross.”

“Okay, what did you do?”

 

Dan stretched out his arms pretty and long, not completely out in front of him, just left enough that he could find himself leaning against Ross. He whispered an answer. 

 

_ Summer had been sweet, dingy gingham shirts and sprinklers and ice, and the end was the kind of bitter that plain green tea offers, dead grass where Dan had spent his days reading. His skin dappled tan despite itself, Dan wandered through the second to last week of August on his toes. _

 

_ Dan’s forgetful arms were covered in Ross’ new pens. Pale inner-forearm skin was the stage to sweet small notes, “five notebooks, new slacks, three folders”, crossing over with “i found your old necklace” and “get fucked, daffy duck”. The first note guided white trainers through a stationery store a tuesday and a half before school began.  _

 

_ Three shelves held spiral notebooks, four held pens, and so on, and varying. Dan held two notebooks in his arms when a man in a tie caught his eyes and held them fast. He stopped in his tracks to watch as the man, across the shelves from him, looked once with soft-steel eyes at the note on Dan’s arm and once at the books in his arms before picking out three more notebooks and reaching over the shelf to hand them over. Flustered, trying not to be too skittish, Dan tiptoed to take the books from the clouds. The smile on both their faces was almost shy enough to believe--a halo of wild hair let youth pull Dan’s lips beautifully and sad years took the mysterious man’s soft-steel to the ground with a small grin. _

 

_ Dan left the store with a new bracelet on top of his stationery and sunlight under his feet. _

 

“Oh, Daffy,” Ross sighed. Dan’s breath was slow, but Ross had grabbed a wrist, and the pulse beneath his fingers insisted on speed. 

 

Dan buried his face in Ross’ chest. A million questions ran through Ross’ head--For how long would Dan even want this? How far would he go? but he held them at bay; a sweetly grating voice cut through the wind, calling Dan inside.

 

“In a while, Crocodile.”

“Get fucked, Daffy Duck.”


	3. Taurus: Contemplate Domestic Turmoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i had a fun time writing this one, man. im lowkey using this work as a way to experiment wit h different storytelling methods; this one is a stream of consciousness.

Avidan’s mother was not the worst in the world, but she was not the best, either. She tried her best to be sweet--orange juice in the morning, hot cocoa before bed--but there was something in her that had never really accepted her role as a parent. Her open doors found themselves overshadowed by Avidan’s, her pretty little son, with his mental doors so wide he’d become a tip-toe on someone’s tongue if she wasn’t careful.

 

Because it was partially worry, you know. It wasn’t just that she was worried, that she thought that her barely-forty frame couldn’t hold up to seventeen. Suzanne knew more than her son would likely want to admit to or even understand about his fate. She could do her best to protect him--orange juice in the morning, hot cocoa before bed--but Avidan was seventeen, and seventeen-year-olds have contentious relationships with their mothers, and that was that. Dreamy eyes went flashing angry the minute “clean your room” was mentioned, the moment “have you done your work” left lips, the second “bring Dr. Wecht his supper”---

 

No, that one was different. Avidan was always getting in the way when it came to Dr. Wecht.

 

He’d found himself in a bind when he got to America, you know. She’d been out of the tenant business awhile, see, she really wasn’t up for it again, but he’d be her son’s professor this year and what was she to do? The school couldn’t house him until the beginning of the semester and they were just a couple of blocks away and really, what was she to do? And her lovely son wasn’t a problem, not really, she just worried, you see, because maybe she shouldn’t have him bring Dr. Wecht his meals but the professor always seemed to tired and busy to remember to eat and she had enough to do as it was, and she should be worried but all she seemed to be able to be was angry--

  
Maybe it’s just bound to be that way, you know, and who was she but his  _ loving mother _ to want him out of her hair and learn his manners a bit and she just, well, see last Tuesday they were all sat on the porch, because it was two weeks before school starts and my goodness it starts tomorrow, doesn’t it? She wondered if Avidan would like a packed lunch or not, but the point was, last Tuesday they were all sat on the porch, and she hadn’t meant it that way. It had been a long time, see. She’d just wanted some time with wine and an older companion, but it wasn’t late enough, not really, so Avidan had joined them which would have been fine but he wouldn’t stop bothering that dear Dr. Wecht and she couldn’t keep from being angry, but after she sent him away back into the house, Dr. Wecht sent himself away, too, mumbling something about scheduling, but he took his wine with him. It was just that he took the booze with him, that’s all, you see. Just that Suzanne was left alone to watch the beautiful sunset--that sunset was very beautiful, don’t you know--and she usually likes to watch it alone but she’d just wanted to perhaps kiss the good professor’s cheek, and everything was dim, they really should replace our block’s streetlamps. It was just that. Just something about the clamor of her son and the quiet of her companion really stuck in her mind, you see.


	4. Crows Outside Complaining about the Finer Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> man i am so much better at being clear about things when im just writing porn this shit is difficult

Dr. Wecht’s classroom had light blue walls, so close to the sky outside, thunderstorms promising a warm night. Danny shivered once, twice, bony arms in a button-down unaccustomed to standing in the front of a classroom. He considered once, twice sitting in the back near the heater like all his other classes--abandoned the notion when a sound clattered its way through his thoughts.

 

“Hey there, Mr. Avidan, didn’t expect to see you here so early.”

 

Danny dropped his books on the desk he’d been verging upon, poise lost one moment, two moments, recovered. He turned and smiled.

 

“Hi, Dr. Wecht! My mom’s really the only one who calls me by my last name, sir; when I’m here, I’m Danny.”

 

He leaned across Dr. Wecht’s big teacher’s desk to kiss his cheek, just like that morning but somehow both less brave and more brave, tie looser than regulation standards and brushing the warm wood. Dr. Wecht held his ground and his tongue and took the soft lips against his stubble with grace. At the soonest possible moment, however, he cleared his throat gruffly and carefully detangled his fingers from Danny’s.

 

Danny, plan clear in his mind since the minute he’d seen Dr. Wecht in the hall that morning, sunny dust motes outlining his pretty, aged form, kept his weight dependent on the desk as Dr. Wecht tried with all his cold, flustered might to sign Danny in.

 

Danny checked the clock above their so-close-not-close-enough bodies: 10:30 a.m. He turned to sit down the minute the first on-time student opened the classroom door, a single dust-pink notecard lost on Dr. Wecht’s desk in his wake.


	5. Among the Rigs with Holly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for dragging Holly into this I really am

She liked to think up lipsticks that would turn her hair green. Once, pool water did the job, and once, Ross popped bubblegum in her hair and she insisted to her mother that she’d seen it in a magazine. Her mother used Holly’s scrapbook scissors to argue the gum out. Ross laughed a wild-bell laugh and she smiled through stubborn tears until her face ached and her shoulders met with his and she sent him home with hickeys to spare.

 

Holly’s face echoed that ache every day, when she said hello to the doves out the porch window, Startle and Feathers and Pig, when she said hello to the cats around her ankles in the kitchen, Orpheus and Orange and Square and Matilda, when she nearly beamed at every finished seam in a flowing scrapbook of lace and tulle. A cat spilled out of her lap as she held the dress up to the mirror.

 

She liked to think up lipsticks that would ruin Ross’ schoolshirts, dreaming of sparkling red lines down white cotton while Ross was away with Danny for the summer. When she teased Ross about her imaginings over the end-of-day phone lines she could hear Danny’s tinny laughter, which set her giggling, which made Ross want to yell bloody murder, but he was laughing too hard to make any sounds away from rolling fields wild men amazed by the churchbells every hour.

  
She liked to think of the day in two months that he would be back in town. Soon she liked to think of the day in two weeks, two days, two hours, two minutes until she leaned on Ross’ shoulders and two seconds until they kissed free and sweet barley brine and bubblegum.


	6. Rust and Fur and Reception Sticks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two or three more chapters before im thrown bodily through the gates of hell!!!hooooo boy

Teaching high school was excessively more complicated than Brian had initially anticipated. Class was simple, that wasn’t the problem--he didn’t entirely register that there was a problem, he was so good at ignoring these things--yes, his language was dense, but he wasn’t their English teacher. Yes, the work he assigned was heavy, but largely, his students did well, all A’s and B’s and some C’s that got their acts together as gracefully as possible when presented with Brian’s quiet, forgiving, unrelenting stare.

 

The problem--there was no problem--was a flutter that started even before the term had started. Leigh, plain Leigh in the morning carrying breakfast to his office by the word of the hostess of the house. Danny in cutoffs, knobbly sunburned knees and mismatched socks placing the breakfast tray down on Brian’s desk with clumsy grace. The Boy, a deliberately higher pitched voice told him, shirtless and gleaming at seven in the morning, New England mist and chill of late August as he placed a hand, so messy, so deliberate, so  _ beautiful _ , over Brian’s notebook and Brian took a breath but that hand moved once a glass of orange juice had been set down upon the desk.

 

Brian cleared his head carefully as he wrote. Class went well, he told the page. Class went well but he felt a flutter he had not felt in suns and moons and years.  _ Avidan _ , he wrote, knuckles careful on every curve and turn.  _ He sits in the second row, close to the windows, in a class he didn’t plan on taking. _ A forced, light, round laugh placed The Hostess’ wine glass carefully-lazily on the windowsill. “You know, he asked me what class you’d be teaching this year. I think he’s really taken with you!”

 

She had had a measured malice in her voice. He wondered who that malice was for.

 

_ Avidan _ , he wrote, and the second time was as Spring-flower as the first.  _ His tie is a loose bow, a regular knot every Thursday and every day that he doesn’t think. His shirt is three buttons left undone and I see his collarbones in the sides of my vision even as I fill my hands with chalkdust and I try to keep my mind at bay. His collarbones are beautiful. He sits carelessly, body mirroring his voice as he drawls out an answer. He looks me in the eye when I call on him. The rest look away from me. _

  
A bell rang and Brian shut his notebook with a deafening, terrifying silence. Students trickled in and a lesson trickled out of his mouth, but he didn’t know what it was, struck so dumb with fear at that long-anticipated entry, prophesized from the moment The Boy sat in the garden at three in the afternoon on a strange day in August. 


End file.
